The Morning Room
by Phillippa of the Phoenix
Summary: She often wondered if there were a day she did not regret it.


**The Morning Room**

_(She often wondered if there was a day the missus did not regret it.)_

A P&P fic not inspired by the movies and not set in modern days and not centered around Fitzwilliam Darcy or Elizabeth Bennet. If anyone requires smelling salts, I have many in my possession.

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Flora Bates prided herself that she always knew when her sir or missus needed something. It did not require too long of a time for her to notice what her missus needed and wanted most of all.

"I shall be in the morning room, Flora, if anyone should call," she said. But Flora heard what the missus had not said afterwards, which was, "I dearly hope someone shall." The missus loved the morning room, where the sun shone its soft light through the windows, where sir found he never had enough time to spend his mornings in with her. It was silent there when no one called to see the missus, as she sat by the hearth in her favorite chair and read her favorite book. Flora would not be surprised, as she often told Harriet, if the missus had read that book enough times to recite it aloud.

Sir, Flora knew, had never seen the missus reading her book by the hearth in her favorite chair. Sir had never seen her cheeks redden with excitement, her eyes blaze with happiness, when Flora announced that Mrs. Darcy or Mrs. Chamberlayne had arrived. This morning it had been the young Mrs. Chamberlayne, with her bright light eyes shining.

Flora had long known how and when to listen at doors, and when a lady comes to her sister with such a look in her eyes, that is a prime chance that only the most foolish of maids would not revel in. Leaning slightly against the wall, ear bent towards the crack betwixt the door and frame, Flora let her basket of laundry rest lighter on her forearm and breathed slowly.

"Maria, you are looking very well," said the missus. Flora could picture her setting her book down and rising from her chair graciously.

"Oh, Charlotte!" Mrs. Chamberlayne replied. There was the sound of heavy footsteps. The missus' sister was not always to be concerned with what was proper. Flora imagined that the two women were presently embracing. "I have the happiest of news!"

"Oh?" the missus replied, with a smile she always spoke with when conversing with Mrs. Chamberlayne. The missus was not so much older than Mrs. Chamberlayne was, but often Flora thought they behaved much like mother and daughter. Flora would not have been surprised to learn, as she had told Harriet many times, that their real mother had perhaps not been the most attentive. "Tell me, for I fear you may upset the tea in your excitement soon."

Mrs. Chamberlayne must have felt the need for intimacy, for Flora could not hear what she said next. However, the missus responded in an unusually clear voice. "A child? How lovely, Maria."

Then Flora saw fit to take her leave, and hang the laundry. She knew when not to listen at doors. The missus' laundry was plain when compared to what her cousin Molly, over at Netherfield, had, but it was of good quality and seldom stained or even mussed. Molly told Flora such stories of stains that made her proud of her own missus. However, the missus' gowns and sir's shirts and trousers were all Flora ever had the opportunity to launder, no little dresses with bows or miniature trousers, as Molly did. Molly's missus had three little ones, all rambunctious and dimpled.

Later that morning, Flora watched Mrs. Chamberlayne's carriage ride away and sighed to herself. It would be a long day for the missus. When she had made her efficient way to the morning room, the missus had moved her chair from the hearth and placed it before the window. Flora did not catch sight of her face and did not seek it, but simply picked up the tea things as carefully as she could.

Flora Bates was no fool. She knew what love was, even for her lack of suitors. The missus had never been one to long for things she did not possess, but love is something that no one can do without for a suspended amount of time. Sir and the missus had been married for almost five years, but she had never seen sir look at the missus like husbands ought to, not even in the first year when they were hardly settled. These facts wounded Flora so that she could not bear to speak them aloud, not even to Harriet. Servants were not supposed to pity those above their station, this Flora knew, but could not control her heart so harshly.

"Shall I bring in your luncheon, madam?" Flora asked her. The missus simply waved her hand through the air without turning around, dismissing Flora as she had never done before. She told herself firmly that this crossness was in no way the missus' fault, but she felt the sting of it nonetheless.

When she encountered the lord of the house, looking as blank and squinty as ever, it took all of her thirty-four years of service to squelch the urge to tell him exactly what she thought of him. She gave the little curtsey he expected, and murmured, "Where shall I set up luncheon, sir?"

"I believe the morning room will suffice, Bates," sir said blandly.

Flora's heart shrunk back. "The morning room, sir?"

"Yes, Bates." Sir did not approve of servants who asked questions.

"Madam is in the morning room at present, sir," Flora mentioned gently, concentrating on the uneven hem of her apron.

"Is she?" Sir rubbed his broad forehead and considered this. "Perhaps the sitting room, then, Bates. Use the regular silver."

Flora would not have let her mind even rest on the thought of not using the regular silver. She prided herself that she always knew when her sir or missus needed something.

* * *

This was inspired by a book entitled _Dating Mr. Darcy_, which was actually being read by my mother. We were talking about it (as it is my book) and my mother noted that the author (Sarah Arthur) came down extremely hard on Charlotte for her decision to marry for convenience. (It sounds horrid if you think about it in modern times, doesn't it?) The more I thought about it, the more it occured to me that Charlotte must have had a very bad time of it, being married to Mr. Collins. Since she has such unhappiness in this fic, I did her the favor of not referring to her as Mrs. Collins.

And I really didn't mean for Flora to turn into such a central character, I just wanted an observer. The original idea was to have all the servants discussing the missus' unhappiness, but that seemed a little rough and rude to do to poor misguided Charlotte. In the end, I am very glad of how it turned out and for some reason very fond of Flora Bates.

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